Dream of Kings, page 13
Did he really think I could emerge from prison and immediately concoct a sophisticated poison? I pressed my lips together. There were undoubtedly some in the Norgard court who knew such recipes, but not me. Sadly, no one here was likely to believe I didn’t follow the Norgard reputation for intrigue. I gestured my free hand toward the door.
Kamor threw it open and ordered the waiting courtier to let no one pass. Then he ushered me upstairs to a servant’s hall. After a brief conversation with a woman in a wide apron, he led me to the open door of a servant’s room.
“Wait.” I wrenched my arm from his grip and dug in my heels. “I haven’t eaten all day. You don’t want me to starve, do you?”
The man leaned in. “If you are lying to the king, I’ll see you do worse than starve.”
“Strive to bring your enemies into your guild of friendship, for that can eliminate many enemies.”
– Philosophy and Theory of the Guilds, page 49
I’d always hated the battling for status among the court in Norgard. I’d scoffed at the trappings that falsely proclaimed one person’s life worth more than another’s. Yet as I stood alone in my assigned room, I dreaded my uncertain status in the palace. Dare I search for a kitchen and beg for food? Or should I find a servant and request a tray? Would that cause offense?
Not sure what to do, I took a few minutes to examine my quarters. A downy quilt with the scent of jasmine covered the bed. Parchment and quills rested on a bookshelf, and a fireplace held ample colith, ready to be lit on a whim, even though the room was already warm by Norgard standards. The small table was polished to a sheen. A window overlooked an inner courtyard, and a framed painting of a forest hung above a potted tree.
Too bad the tree didn’t hold any fruit.
My stomach growled. I cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. Kamor was gone, so I slipped out and listened. The cheerful clatter of kitchen cleanup emanated from farther down the hall. I followed the sounds. When I passed a young serving girl, she gave me a respectful bow before hurrying on. So far, so good.
Following a back staircase down, I found the kitchen. Far too close to the prison’s door for my comfort. A tiny woman, also of Pito’s people, stood on a table in the center of the large room, directing activities. Her gray hair was pulled into a bird-like tuft on top her head. “Idiot! I said I wanted those carrots diced. You there, bring that tray to the third lady’s rooms. Take a taster with you. And you. Save those scraps for Vail. Nothing goes to waste.”
She rotated in place and spotted me. Her eyes flared violet. “What in the name of the Lanalee are you doing in here?”
I edged back a step. Like Pito, she was more formidable than her size would indicate.
“I’m Jolan the Dream Teller.”
“Did I ask you your name? What are you doing in my kitchen?”
I raised my chin. “Looking for a bit of food. It’s been a long day. Do you know Pito? She would vouch for me. I’ve been in the prison for the past months.”
The cook’s eyes warmed to a startled amber. She placed a hand to her heart and bowed. “Well then. You may call me Memasak.” She pointed at one of the boys scrubbing dishes at a sink. “Fix a tray for her.”
She jumped down to a bench and then to the floor and marched up to me. “How is Pito? I’m sometimes able to catch up with her when I deliver our scrap stew to the prison but haven’t seen her lately.”
I grinned. “She’s fine. Thank you for what you’ve done for the prisoners.”
Memasak eyed me up and down. “Judging by your scrawniness, I haven’t sent enough.”
“Everything helps.” I crouched to her level. “Were you also taken captive?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I moved here for the adventure. Moved here when I saw which way the wind was blowing.” But her irises flared red. She was lying.
So why was she really working in the Saboreen palace for the king who had enslaved so many of her people? I filed that question away for later. “It’s good to meet you.”
A boy approached with a laden tray. Memasak pursed her lips. “Well, you aren’t allowed in here. Where are you housed?”
I shrugged. “Up a level and down a pale-green hallway.”
She tilted her head, her hair tuft bouncing. “Take this tray back to your room. Tomorrow you can break your fast with the other servants. Galanu will show you where. Off with you. I have work to do.”
Galanu moved quickly to escape the kitchen, and I followed him. He pointed out the door to the servant’s dining hall, then led me upstairs to the servant’s wing and left the tray in my room. I tried to strike up a conversation, but he was in a rush to return from his errand. I imagined Memasak wasn’t a very forgiving taskmistress.
I dug into the delicious bread and cheese. My first success in this new palace world. No, my second. Recovering the king’s dream was the first. As I chewed the food, I also chewed on the images I’d seen. What did they mean? Provider, thank You for this food. Thank You for keeping me safe thus far. Thank You for revealing the king’s dream. Please show me what his dreams mean and what I should tell him.
The king’s dreams reminded me of Duchess Ket’s most frightening nightmares. Clearly some major danger was approaching Sabor. However, no specific interpretation came to mind. Just as well. I didn’t want the responsibility of making a decision that could influence the king’s actions. What if he launched an all-out attack on Norgard because of something I said? The last dream I’d witnessed before being captured and sold was one of danger to our people, and according to the Norgardian woman I met in the prison, others back home were also having disturbing images.
With my belly full, I crawled into the bed that felt overly soft and nestled under the quilt. The last thought that followed me into sleep was the image of Kamor glaring at me from the shadows.
“Wait!” Kamor snatched a carafe from the king’s table. He poured a small amount into one of the glasses and tasted a sip. Then he poured a second glass and handed it to the king.
I rolled my eyes. I stood ten feet away and hadn’t touched anything in the king’s room. Did Kamor really believe I was a dangerous poisoner?
Weeks had passed, and the king continued to dream. My life had settled into a routine similar to the guild hall in Norgard. I remained cloistered away as much as possible, available when the king summoned me to discuss his dreams, lingering in the palace kitchen when Memasak would allow it, but otherwise doing all I could to avoid the people of the court, especially Kamor. I tried to learn how Pito was doing, but that was difficult when keeping my distance from the prison doors. I had no wish to enter that dark world again. I sent notes with baskets of food, but Pito never responded.
A pile of my dream-telling notes sat on the table in my room, and I shuffled through them each day. Subtle variations emerged, but the content remained the same. Plenty and want. Bounty and destruction. But the Provider hadn’t revealed specific meaning to me yet. Even worse, the king had begun to ask for more than just my dream telling. He sought my advice. I explained that being a dream teller didn’t mean I had wisdom for how to rule. In fact, I would gladly run from any leadership role. The pressure, the opposition, the murky undercurrents. I hated it all.
Yet the king’s trust in me deepened—as did Kamor’s scowl when I visited the king’s rooms.
Keeping my distance so as not to alarm Kamor, I looked at the king. “I’m sorry. I still don’t know what actions you should take about the disputes in the marketplace. And I don’t yet know the meaning of your dreams.”
“So what good are you to the king?” Kamor scoffed.
I ignored him, keeping my focus on Siverlon. The old man smiled. For a moment the creases of worry eased. “You’ve already done more than all my seers. I enjoy our conversations.” He looked up at his ever-hovering advisor. “Kamor, move her to the rooms next to the third lady.” The king then winked at me. “Much better view, and you’ll be nearby if I need you at a moment’s notice.”
I bowed and managed to back out of the room—though a bit awkwardly. Kamor didn’t bother with that sort of protocol. He stomped out, and as soon as the doors closed behind us, he turned on me.
“I’m warning you—”
This had gone on far too long. “I’ve heard all your warnings. I’m not a poisoner. I mean no harm to your king. And I’m sorry you feel so threatened by my presence.”
“Threatened?” He choked and then burst into a laugh. The sound was rich and warm, making him seem almost human. “A scrawny slave from the north is anything but threatening.”
A sudden image flared in my mind. A lean desert wolf circled a man wearing a crown. The hackles of his neck rose, and his muzzle wrinkled in a growl. I knew it! Kamor was a danger to the king. Yet as I watched, the wolf sat beside the king, who rested a hand on the beast’s head. A southern elk stepped out of a nearby marsh, sharp antlers lowering as it charged. The wolf leaped in front of the king, snapping, dodging, and protecting the king until the elk retreated.
My eyes flew open, and I stared at Kamor. “You genuinely care for the king.”
“That’s common knowledge.”
“Even your dreams show what you will risk protecting him.”
He took a step back, skin paling under his stubble. “What dreams?”
Kamor had been so distrusting, such an adversary, that I was tempted to taunt him by walking away in silence. But his dream had done more than reveal a noble character. I had felt a yearning in the wolf that stirred my sympathy. So I shared what I’d seen.
He grew paler. “I believed you invented these stories. But I . . .”
“You remember it now. Look, you don’t need to trust me,” I said softly. “Trust the Provider who gave you the dream.”
He crossed his arms. “What does it mean?”
“You will protect the king from danger.” I smiled. “And I am no elk.”
He chuckled, then offered a respectful bow. “Dream teller, I thank you for your service.”
“My people have a saying: ‘We reduce the ranks of our enemies if we turn them into friends.’”
He raised an eyebrow. “And my people say, ‘Don’t offer friendship lightly.’”
“Fair enough. But we don’t need to be enemies. As long as it doesn’t harm my own people, I will help anyone here in Sabor who needs me.”
A hint of sneer reappeared. “That certainly served your purposes when you told General Motu his dream.”
My shoulders slumped. Kamor would never trust me. It wasn’t in his nature. And when the king turned to me instead of his advisor for counsel, that only fueled his resentment toward me.
I followed silently as Kamor ordered a servant to move my things to a new room on this floor.
“I’m honored, Your Majesty, but it isn’t possible.” I clenched my hands in my lap to keep them from trembling. I should have expected a new complication when I was moved to what was essentially the family wing of the palace. I had been enjoying the sounds of children scampering about in the halls, the distant hum of lullabies, the respectful nods. But I had wondered what new danger this privilege would bring. Now I knew. Sitting by the glowing colith hearth in his common room, the king had bluntly offered me a place as fourth wife. As I struggled to find a gentle way to refuse, I knew that I was taking my life in my hands.
I risked meeting the king’s pale eyes. As expected, surprise and annoyance flickered in their depths. “You dare—” He took a deep breath. “Explain yourself.”
“I’m a foreigner and a lowly servant. Surely you see there are others more suitable for someone of your power and prominence.”
He leaned forward. “Flattery is a fool’s tool. Tell me the real reason. Do you have your sights set on a younger man? My advisor perhaps?” His chuckle was dark, and he shifted his gaze to Kamor, who stood near the entrance of the king’s quarters, a fixture who never allowed anyone alone with his ruler. Not a single hint of expression moved on Kamor’s face.
I twisted my fingers together. Honesty. That was always the best offering. “My heart was given already and will never be given to another.” I fought them back, but tears stung behind my eyes. “I had a husband in Norgard.”
“Does he live?” The king settled back in his cushioned chair. I shuddered to think what Jesah’s fate might have been if he did still live.
“I’m a widow,” I said softly. “And I treasure the memory of Jesah too much to ever bond with another.” No need to explain that I’d almost accepted Cimeran’s proposal. His betrayal had sealed my resolve to never wed again.
“Fine.” The king rubbed his forehead. “You can stop looking so worried. I only sought to reward you with a more prestigious position in my household. Is there something else I can offer you as a reward? Jewels? Gowns? Art?”
The high lord of Norgard had been offended when I’d rejected his rewards, so instead of a quick refusal, I paused. “Do your traders ever bring back quoca stems from the north? I used to drink it daily, and no one in Sabor seems to know what it is.”
He beamed. “Done. The next caravan will procure them. It will take some weeks, but I’ll get you your stems. Now, what has your Provider told you about my dreams? They continue to haunt me, and I must know how to act.”
At last I had something to offer. This morning as I stared out at the garden and pondered the vivid images that had replayed in the king’s dreams every night for weeks, my thoughts had finally been directed to answers, answers that fit together with the nightmares of Duchess Ket and a few prisoners’ most epic dreams. The revelations were frightening but important. I sat taller. “I think I—”
A tap sounded at the door. Kamor pulled it open, muscles coiled and ready to block any enemy. Galanu hunched over a serving tray and shuffled his feet. “Blue-trunk wine as requested.”
Kamor grabbed the tray, rattling the carafe and glasses. Galanu twitched and scampered away like a nervous garden mouse. Kamor had that effect on people.
He set the tray on the low table before the king, poured two glasses, and sipped from one. After he swallowed, he held up a hand for a full minute, before finally nodding and stepping back. I tucked a lock of hair into my braid and smoothed a wrinkle on my sleeve, eager for this little ceremony to finish so I could reveal my vital news.
The king rolled his eyes. “Kamor, this routine wears thin. Do you still fear someone in my own palace would seek my harm? Have I not proven over and over how swiftly I destroy my enemies?”
His enemies. The people of Wilddon. Perry.
In a sudden snap, all urgency to help the king vanished into dust like an overheated colith ember. A white fury surged through me. Why had I ever treated this king with the same courtesy I had given seekers in Norgard? A man with his power and arrogance didn’t deserve answers from the Provider. Squeezing my hands together in my lap, I relished the bite of Perry’s ring as it pressed hard into my skin.
I glared at the dark shades of the wine. Just like the shade of Pito’s eyes when she was angry. More suffering caused by the orders of this king. Pito’s son forced to scrabble in the Saboreen mines. Pito serving in the prison just to stay somewhat near to him. His own words had condemned him, and I would not reveal what the Provider had foretold.
The king lifted the glass in a toast to something humorous that Kamor had said. A murky shade rested beneath the translucent violet fluid.
I frowned and tightened my focus. A few specks of white hovered in the wine. Suddenly, I was back in the Guildagard, sipping the elemberry wine someone had handed me. The poisoned wine. The glass where tiny flecks floated.
Time froze. The carafe of wine wasn’t poisoned. The glass was, waiting for liquid to be poured. And I could let him drink. Let him die like so many others had at his hands—his so-called enemies who had done him no wrong. Ridding the world of a man this powerful would do the world a service.
Yet another would simply take his place. Perhaps one even worse. Should I warn him? Bile, sharp and bitter, stung my throat. Such a warning would further confirm the accusations that followed me, confirm Kamor’s suspicions that I was skilled in murder. No one would believe it was only because I’d felt the effects myself that I recognized the signs.
Provider! As I cried out in my panic of indecision, I knew my course. If I allowed the poison to reach his lips, I was no better than a poisoner. I unclenched my hands, Perry’s ring no longer cutting into me. This king might one day face judgement, but not by me.
“Wait,” I gasped.
The glass moved closer to his lips, my warning unheeded as the king continued to banter with his advisor.
I sprang forward and struck the goblet from his hand. Wine splattered. Kamor shouted and leapt to restrain me. The king launched from his chair, brushing wine from his ornate tunic.
I strained against Kamor’s grip. “Poison. In—” I winced as Kamor pulled my arms behind me. “In the glass.”
Kamor shoved me toward my chair. “Sit. Don’t move.”
The king’s face flashed from anger to confusion. He stared at the goblet that now feigned harmlessness as it rolled on the plush rug.
Kamor picked it up between a finger and thumb. He sniffed the remnants of wine, then raised a skeptical brow toward me.
“I saw specks of white floating in the glass. And the wine near the stem looked darker.”
“Ridiculous,” the king said. “Kamor drank the wine.”
“It wasn’t in the wine. It was in the cup.”
Kamor leaned over me. “How would an assassin know which glass the king would drink from?”
I glared up at Kamor. “I don’t know. Maybe they thought an equal chance was better than nothing. Or maybe they didn’t care which of you they killed.”
The advisor stared hard at me. His next words could send me back to prison—or worse. Any favor I’d won with the king wouldn’t stand against his accusation.
He examined the goblet again, even daring to taste the drops still within. He spat. “Yes, it’s subtle. But the flavor is off.”
